


"...Secrets?"

by isonlyme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Eleven's POV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Stranger Things (TV 2016), Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, add as i go, first stranger things fanfic!!, season one only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isonlyme/pseuds/isonlyme
Summary: Where Eleven snoops around Mike's house and finds a peculiar journal entry.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers/Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	"...Secrets?"

**Author's Note:**

> Ello!!! This is my first fanfiction for this fandom (so I am VERY excited yet VERY nervous!!) I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it. This is based in season one only!! Comments and kudos would be very appreciated <3

Eleven grew tired of sitting in the blanket fort, waiting for Mike’s watch to say the three numbers he told her earlier— _ ”When this read 3:15. Three, one, five. Got that, El?” Mike adjusted the digital watch to her wrist with soft, sweaty fingers— _ and letting her stomach settle the burnt Eggos he snuck back from breakfast. 

_ “Just stay here in the basement, Eleven. So it’s a secret. And eat these waffles, understand?” Mike was staring at her with intense eyes, ones Eleven knew were filled with curiosity at her; those deep brown eyes; they were fixed on her face, on her puzzled stare, only belonging to the boy who saved her. Her friend. But Mike’s eyes led her to believe that maybe he found something more than a friend there, in her gaze. His looks were too deliberate and his gestures too sudden and eager—of the three boys who had rescued her, Mike was the only one willing to communicate, make her feel at home—and even if the other two thought she was stupid, Eleven knew better than to assume this boy sitting next to her thought of her as only a friend.  _

_ She herself was unsure what she felt, what she thought of him. No words came to her aid. A blank, soundless mind.  _

_ Eleven understood his words.  _ Stay. Eat. _ It was but the one sentence that made the bite of waffle she had chewed off cling to the back of her throat.  _

_ “Secret?” She asked, letting the packaged Eggo return to her lap. Mike’s expression changed, once kind and assertive; now confused. It was a look Eleven had often recalled on the many faces of those around her—before. Especially her Papa, the white-haired man that occupied every vacant space in her mind, breeding intrusive thoughts of other places and nightmares she had no way of forgetting. A gentleness painted on the man that was quickly met with irritation when she did not comprehend a task.  _

_ But these new people, new faces, were different. Mike was different, she was sure of it. His thoughts and emotions were obvious for anyone to see. Sensitive and on display.  _

_ Too exposed.  _

_ “What?” Mike’s voice broke her from the memory. He leaned forward, just barely. From this close Eleven could discern every one of his freckles, on those pale cheeks tinged with blush, lashes dark and just as visible as the straight, raven-colored hair that framed his face.  _

_ “What is secret?” Eleven repeated the question, the word was familiar on her tongue, but had no meaning, no flavor. Dull and lifeless like the many things she found herself unable to remember.  _

_ Mike’s legs shifted on the blanket, searching the wall for an answer, as if it had one.  _

_ "A secret is something that no one else can know about,” he replied slowly, making sure she caught everything.  _

_ “I am a secret?”  _

_ “No! Of course not. Well, not exactly—” He assumed a body posture she did not like: too quickly did his shoulders rise to shrug, his face a notch above where it should be—looking at her—and mind clearly elsewhere. It made her feel unwanted—a weirdo, a stray dog—and that she was wasting his time with her questions. Did Mike not want to explain? Why must she stay in the blanket fort? Eleven wondered with hidden frustration. The bad men couldn’t infiltrate the confines of this house, the stability that Eleven needed it to have. Not even the other things, the screams she heard in her sleep from the Upside Down. Not yet.  _

_ All of her questions were lost past communication: so many words and phrases and meanings entirely taken from her, unable to speak them aloud.  _

_ “Michael! You better be up here right now if you don’t want to be late for school!” A voice shouted from upstairs, making Eleven flinch and cast wide, frightened eyes at the ceiling.  _

_ Mike set a hand on her sleeve to reassure her—and she paid careful attention to the fact that he did not touch her. Was he afraid of her abilities, that could stun an entire room? Like everyone else was?  _

_ “It’s just my mom. I’ll see you later, okay? Remember: three, one, five, El.” And with that he was gone, only leaving Eleven to reflect on his words—even the unsaid ones—and finish her breakfast.  _

But by that time Eleven was no longer hungry. More sounds echoed from above, she listened intently under the cover of blankets to every thud of footsteps and pinging clatter of dishes until the house settled into a comforting silence when the watch read one-zero. The only thing that stilled her racing heart was the repetitive blink of that watch, its numbers flashing in red light. A color that made Eleven’s eyes burn when she stared at it for too long, too closely, her pounding vision ringed in scarlet. 

She didn’t want to stay in the basement, even if Mike said so. She wanted to discover other foreign things in the house, like whose voice accompanied what room, what his family looked like, where Mike slept. The image she constructed of his face shrouded in sleep—innocent features undisturbed, not a sign of worry or a frown—made her blush. Eleven smiled down at the Eggo’s crinkly plastic in her hands, surrounded by the speckled grey of someone else’s sweatpants; her shirtsleeve crusted with a coppery red from the ghost of old blood. 

Not now. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it, her “superpowers.” A term the boys often used for it—either in amazement or fear she did not know. Eleven shook her head, if only they knew it was anything but a gift. They were right to be afraid. 

Out of habit, she checked the numbers again:  _ 12:37. _ Too early to leave out the back door, but just enough time to creep upstairs with no one home yet. The stairs were carpeted, mysterious blue steps that led her up into the house, soothing her bare feet. Once above ground, Eleven stood at the base of the kitchen’s hard tile and stared in awe. Many things reminded her of Mike, and possibly the other voices she heard during her stay: dirtied dishes, a child’s plaything, an old house phone suspended on the kitchen wall and backed by creamy floral wallpaper. Signs of life. _ Family.  _

Home was a far off place, invisible to her reach. She searched her mind for a taste of it, trying to force the past out of her, but the emptiness was inescapable; it only brought a blistering headache and the all-too-familiar faint feeling Eleven often adapted to for the past twelve years. 

Somewhere in the living room a clock trilled the time: _ 1:00. _ How long had she been standing there? Eleven wiped her face, her sleeve returned wet with tears she did not know where there and the speckled dots of a nosebleed. The smell of blood burned in her nostrils, salty and pungent. It made her sick. 

She spun on her heels and went to the staircase, hoping Mike’s room was somewhere up there. It felt wrong in some ways, like a burglar stepping into a stranger’s house; her stomach twisted with guilt but still she climbed up the stairs until she reached the landing, it’s walls covered with photographs. Mike’s face popped up in random ones, surrounded by people Eleven did not recognize. His smile was etched into the lips of other people, an older woman with thin brown hair she assumed was his mother. Sister with her arms around a much younger mike. Her pretty face, her prettier body. The final photograph stopped Eleven dead: the three boys, all standing around a podium, joined by a fourth. 

Chestnut brown hair that curved around a kind face. Shy, expressive eyes stared back at Eleven. In a sudden moment of realization the face of the boy matched his voice, his shrieks of pain. The remnants of her time in the Upside Down were already fading but even still the sounds of his screams resonated with her, weeks after. The boy trapped in the other world.  _ Will Byers.  _

It all began to make sense. This was who went missing, who the others were searching for. Eleven shuddered with emotion, with empathy for this boy: having to survive with the torment of the monsters in the Upside Down, the constant disillusionment, fearful frustration of not being seen. Completely alone. 

Eleven’s finger landed on Will’s face in the photo, covering it. 

“Hide,” she whispered. 

Across the gallery was a series of bedroom doors, mostly shut but some left open. One final look at Will was enough; Eleven left the memories suspended in time, and headed towards the hallway. 

Mike’s room was first, it's door left cracked. She knew this mainly because of its assortment of comic books and small figurines that matched the ones in the basement—and partially due to the smell: Mike had given Eleven his navy blue crew neck to wear that first day, it filled her blood-caked nostrils with his boyish scent. Again she caught her cheeks flame, standing at the threshold of his room, on the outside looking in. 

With a cautious step she set a foot on the carpet. Apart from the mess the room was very intriguing to Eleven, with the exciting posters tacked on every available space, school books left in a haphazard pile by the bed, clothes strewn about, a lone mirror leaning against the wall. She crept inside the room completely and stood at the mirror’s length. 

What was peering back left her speechless. A thin, androgynous figure with slouched shoulders stared ahead, hair shaved, a look of horror and alarm crossing its face. Eleven knew it was her—the borrowed clothes, the grime of tears and blood. It was her own eyes that startled her: dark and off-balance, like she did not trust herself. Like she was staring into the soul of a stranger. 

She let her eyes trail across the glass until they landed on something tucked at an odd angle under Mike’s bed. Turning around, she knelt beside the bed frame and touched the corner of the object—cool leather met her curious fingers, inviting her—until she found herself holding the item. It was a notebook. Eleven flipped the pages, poring over every passage undeniably in Mike’s handwriting. Although she was incapable of understanding some of the phrases, the entries were easily read until Eleven’s fingers stopped on the final page. 

The latest entry, dated a few days ago. She read carefully, tracing the letters with the pad of her finger to feel them as she went, fascinated by the indents in his disorganized scrawl. 

_ I won’t let myself believe he’s gone. Gone as in dead. He isn’t dead. He can’t be. But why is everyone acting like he is? Are they searching for Will because they feel bad? It’s the only excitement this town has had in years? That’s pretty shitty.  _

_ On the way to find Will, to find answers, we met a girl. I thought she was a boy at first. Her hair was cut really short. It was pouring buckets and Dustin was still arguing about turning back when we found her. Damn, did she look scared. Shaking like crazy. We took her back to my house, even though Lucas and Dustin didn’t want to. They said she was a freak, a weirdo. I wasn’t sure. She seemed nice enough for a girl who doesn’t talk. Eleven. That was her name. How weird? Who names their kid some number? Even more reason for the guys to be worried. I didn’t think it mattered, when she was cleaned up she looked really pretty. What’s that word on the vocab test in English? Stunning.  _

_ I tried to tell them she just needed a place to stay but they said I was crazy, that Eleven was crazy too. Just because Will’s gone and everything, now I have someone else to obsess over, they said. That isn’t true. I don’t obsess over him. It’s not like that.  _

_ But maybe I did? That day after school, when it was just him and I. Will was telling me about how the older kids were pushing him to the ground, calling him names. Faggot. Queer. He hated them for it. I almost said, ‘But Will, you aren’t a queer’ but as I started to talk he turned on his bike to stare at me. It made my stomach flip, why did it do that? Like stupid butterflies and crap. He looked at me like he knew I was lying. Like maybe I was lying too. To myself. But that’s a secret Will couldn’t tell, not to anyone except for me.  _

_ And now Eleven’s here. She’s asleep down in the basement. As I write this I don’t know what to think. I miss him in a way I didn’t think I could. Like a piece of mt is gone. God, that sounds sappy, huh? Great, now the kids are gonna call me names worse than Frogface. Say I like one of my best friends, the boy who might be dead.  _

_ But do I stop them? Are they wrong? I can’t get his face out of my head and it’s messing me up. I wish I could have said something that last night, when it was just Will and I. He was keeping a secret too.  _

The words ended there, but Eleven reread the page to make sure she didn’t miss what she thought she read. Mike Wheeler, the boy who found her in the rain, had secrets? Elven thought they were friends. 

“Friends don’t lie,” she told herself, and the pages that said Mike liked Will. They also said that Mike liked Eleven too, and her heart hammered out a disjointed beat at that. Could you like your friends? In a way that was more? Eleven squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, trying to form the words that would make sense of it all. Mike was friends with Will, but there was something to his journal that was laden with different emotion too foggy for Eleven to fully grasp. 

She opened her eyes. It was the same way she felt for Mike, that distant feeling. She relished in the fact that she knew something no one else did, but was shocked as well: are friends allowed to hide things like this? Keep locked away the shy smiles, the stares at one another, the rapid hearts? Friends but  _ different.  _

A echoey toll sounded from downstairs, and for a shaky moment Eleven forgot about the time; she jumped at the noise and the notebook fell from her hands. It clattered to the floor with a soft thud and a rustle of paper. Eleven stared down at the black notebook for a long while, pondering over what she had read. Was it a secret she had snuck upstairs? No one had to know she was up here at all. But an outside grumble of a motor rolling up the driveway sent Eleven frantically back down the stairs, jumping the last few steps, and dashing into the basement. She retreated into the blanket fort and wrapped the sheets over her body. Her heart pounded with dread at the opening of a door, the preceding footsteps. A lively voice on the phone. 

_“Oh no, I don’t have to pick up Michael today. Stop by anytime. Yes, he’s with his friends,”_ the woman chattered. Eleven was trapped. 

The numbers read:  _ 3:08. _ It was too late now. She found herself once again stuck with her thoughts, staring at the same Eggo waffle wrapper. Wondering how she got stuck in a house she didn’t belong in, reading things that weren’t for her, feelings she couldn’t put into words. 

Now Eleven knew two things: friend feelings, but ones that can be twisted into something else. An old word, with new meaning. 

Maybe, Eleven thoughts, Mike hiding her in the basement was a secret, and Mike liking the boy in the other world was one, too. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!! <3 !


End file.
